


Sweet as Sugar

by Vae



Category: Band Sinister - K. J. Charles
Genre: M/M, earlier than expected sugar beet harvest, historically inaccurate British agriculture, no maypoles were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: Guy finds a way to convince Philip's tenant farmers that sugar beet is a viable and profitable crop
Relationships: Guy Frisby/Philip Rookwood
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	Sweet as Sugar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorchasilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorchasilver/gifts).



"How much of your beet sugar do you have?" Guy tapped his pen absently against his notebook, brows drawn together in the way that indicated that he had an idea that he hadn't quite worked out yet.

Philip's brows rose in response. "Christ, I don't know. You mean all of it or just the edible bits?"

"Just the edible amount, please, Sir Philip," Guy said, scrupulously polite and far too formal, considering no-one else was around. Still, it was one way of separating Philip's-lover-Guy from Philip's-secretary-Guy, and it was considerably better than some of the alternatives.

Philip leaned back in his seat, considering. "No, I still don't know. That is, I do know, but not without looking it up."

Guy rose from his seat instantly, moving across to the shelves. "Here?"

"No, V's got the reports," Philip said absently, caught Guy's expression, and sighed. "I mean, Lord Corvin has the figures."

Guy nodded, apparently appeased. "I'll ask his man of business to send me copies."

"Do you think you might consider telling me why?" Philip asked, with exaggerated politeness.

"I will consider it, Sir Philip," Guy agreed gravely.

Philip gave up. "Well, let me know when you reach a conclusion. And do join me for dinner tonight, last night was unbearably dull without your presence."

"I had to finish the -"

"Paperwork, yes, I know," Philip completed. "Could it really not have waited for this morning?"

Guy looked at Philip, gaze steady across the desk. "Instead of what I did do this morning?"

Philip capitulated. "All right, yes, fair point. Still. I shall expect you for dinner this evening."

~~~

Philip was in London next time Guy mentioned the sugar. Not in person, since Guy insisted on taking his role as Philip's secretary completely seriously, and it was hard for Philip to complain about that given that his estates were positively flourishing under Guy's watchful eye. Still, it did mean far more time between their meetings than Philip would have preferred, and also meant that Philip was in Corvin's library when he read the letter.

And read it again, to make entirely certain of what he'd read. "V?"

"Hmm?" Corvin looked up from his own, much smaller pile of letters. Most of them appeared to be invitations. "What is it, light of my life?"

"Have you ever heard of something called Lammas?" Philip asked. 

Corvin waved a hand towards the shelves crammed with books. "I do think you might be able to find the answer yourself, with just a little application of effot."

"My effort was used up in parting Ned and Isabella last night," Philip said absently. "I think it's some kind of country thing."

"Oh, then it's almost certainly to do with fucking," Corvin said, with a swift sharpening of his attention. "Folklore always is. Dancing around the maypole and so forth."

"I don't think," Philip said, choosing his words with care, "that Guy would ask me to bring you to Rookwood Hall to dance around his maypole."

Corvin laughed, entirely unoffended. "Well, one lives in hope. What on earth does he want me there for?"

"Yarlcote's Lammas celebration, apparently," Philip said, offering Corvin the letter. "It's before the hunting starts, and you do loathe London in August."

"Which is why I usually spend it in Derbyshire," Corvin pointed out. "I suppose I can spare you one week, if only to find out what Lammas is about. Does your man of many talents say why he wants me there, specifically?"

"He's got some ideas about how to convince my tenant farmers about Silesian beet," Philip said, waving the letter when Corvin didn't take it. "And he wants you there because it's your factory, I think."

"Only my money, dear heart," Corvin protested. "Oh, no, I understand. Tell him I'd be happy to come and be scandalous."

"As long as you keep your maypole to yourself," Philip said mildly. 

"If I must," Corvin sighed.

~~~

Lammas turned out not to involve a maypole, although it did involve far more of Yarlcote's inhabitants than Philip was entirely comfortable having quite so close to his house. Still, Guy's celebrations seemed to be taking place safely outside, with long tables set out in the evening sun. One table held bread, cheese and cold meats. The other had a pile of beet at one end, a cone of sugar in the centre, and plates of cakes at the other end. Beside the cakes was Guy, deep in conversation with farmers that Philip vaguely recognised. 

"I should have made sure there'd be a bishop here." Philip murmured, as he and Corvin drew closer to the gathering. "Otherwise you'll have outraged mothers lining up to take turns to demand you marry their daughters simply for standing too close to them."

"I didn't realise you knew any bishops," Corvin countered. "And how close is too close?"

"In the same county, I think," Philip said. "Ah, Mr. Frisby. Is this the demonstration you mentioned?"

Guy flashed Philip a bright, quick smile. "Indeed, Sir Philip. This is the beet grown in your test field, processed in Viscount Corvin's factory," he paused to give Corvin a brief nod, almost a bow, of acknowledgment, "and baked in your own kitchens to produce the feast you see before you."

"Good for Mrs. Ellingham," Philip said, trying to conceal his astonishment, as much for Guy's powers of persuasion as for the fact that the process had actually produced enough palatable sugar for quite so many cakes. "Well, I suppose I'd better try a piece of that lemon cake, please."

"Of course," Guy said, giving Philip that same half-bow, and handed him a plate and a cake fork before giving his attention back to the farmer, directing him towards the man standing behind the sugar cone.

"I'll take the cherry," Corvin put in, with every appearance of enthusiasm.

"So I've heard, my lord," Guy said smoothly.

Philip managed not to choke on his surprisingly delicious cake. "Mr. Frisby!"

Guy bent his head, not quite hiding his smile, and handed another plate to Corvin who wasn't even trying to conceal his laughter. "I think, my lord, Sir Philip, you may find your next harvest rather better than the last."

"I think you may be right," Philip agreed. "Thank you, Mr. Frisby. I shall see you after dinner tonight."

"I shall look forward to it," Guy said, only the brightness of his eyes betraying exactly what he might be looking forward to.

Philip allowed himself one more lingering look at Guy. "Don't bother to dress."

**Author's Note:**

> for my dearest sorchasilver, with thanks for her donation to the Albert Kennedy Trust
> 
> Not yet beta'd - if you're willing to beta Band Sinister fic, please let me know in comments!


End file.
